One of the first things I was told in the hospital was that M need not change her diet, but must adjust her insulin intake accordingly. At first, she was on the rigid plan, so I learned right away that this was a lie. She normally ate whenever she wanted and whatever she wanted, now she had to eat a certain number of carbs at certain times of day so that her insulin would do its job properly.
About a month after diagnosis, we came upon our first real culinary challenge: a Greek dinner at school. Each year the upper grades in M's school hosts a family dinner in the style of a nation that they have studied during the year. It's a lovely affair in which the students prepare the menu, the food, set up dinner tables with flowers from the campus, act as hosts, and provide entertainment. We look forward to it every year.
M was diagnosed on April 15th. The culminating events for school (arts night, family night, talent show) were right on the heels of this diagnosis. Things were a little hectic. In education May is a nutty month. I taught at one school, and my children each attended different schools. That added up to about nine evenings of May which were dedicated to school events. As an exhausted mother of a Type 1 daughter, I wasn't sure I would survive the month. This didn't matter to M. She was so looking forward to this night. She and her class had been preparing for it for weeks.
Of course, being a kid, M wanted to eat what everyone else was going to eat that night. I being her mother, thought that there needn't be a fuss. Of course she should be able to participate as normally as possible, even if we were still new at this diabetes management thing. Then I saw the menu. The meal included various breads, a Greek salad, a soup, and the killer. Baklava. Do you know how many carbs are in a sliver of baklava? Scads. Tons. Bushels.
Our mission, as we chose to accept it, deal with it, and endure it, was to keep her meal under 75 carbs. I nearly cried with frustration as we tried to come up with portion sizes that would allow M to taste everything on the menu. Of course, being a mom, I had to keep the "we can do it!" face on. Not just because M, Bill and I all needed to maintain a positive attitude, but also because the other parents were watching.
Don't get me wrong. They were only watching because they were concerned for us, and curious, too. The school has a grand total of 80 kids from ages 3 to 14. M was the first diabetic student they had had in a long time. Possibly ever. And everyone knew it.
Nearly everyone had finished their meals when our family finally completed all of the necessary math. Before the festivities could resume, we needed to feed our daughter very carefully measured portions. Everyone pretended not to notice that they were all waiting for the Hubers to eat.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The good news is that M did get to eat everything, and we proved again that we could endure. This soul-sucking disease was not going to keep this family from living a normal life. The better news was that I would likely not have a reason to calculate for baklava for years to come.
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| It will be too soon before I have to calculate for you again, sir. |
The even better news was that I had a chance to reconnect with the parents from M's school, many of whom I had not seen since before M's diagnosis. They expressed concern for us, joy that we were maintaining, and hope that M would continue to lead a positive and fruitful life. In a morbid way it was great to tell and retell M's diagnosis story. Each time I did, it hurt a little less. And in a way, I felt like I was making inroads for these families to better understand diabetes when they encounter it again.
And they will.
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